


June 9th

by Ronja



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2663363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ronja/pseuds/Ronja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episodic series that follows Katniss' and Peeta's life post-war with each chapter taking place exactly one year after the previous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Age 19 - Peeta

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another one of those stories I've had lying around my computer for a while. I started this fic because I wanted to write something multi-chapter but without a large, dramatic storyline. As much as I'm prone to writing angst I really enjoyed writing happy Everlark in "Baby Steps" so this will be similar in nature. It's meant to be entirely episodic, a series of ficlets tied together by all taking place in the same story-universe, on a specific date each year. I chose June 9th because that was the day I began writing it and, well, it seemed as good a date as any.
> 
> This first installment is from Peeta's POV. The POVs will alternate between the two of them, giving them both a say =) Since there's no plotline per se I don't know how many chapters there will end up being, or how often chapters will be posted, or for that matter how many years it will end up covering. I suppose I'll keep it up for as long as I can keep coming up with ideas.

It's a little after nine in the evening and the sun has begun to set. From the back deck of Katniss' house we can follow the sun on the first part of its downward journey until it reaches the tree line. There is a lawn, the end of which is marked by a small hedge, followed by about a hundred meters of public domain grass and then the fence and the woods. The grass on the lawn is mowed and well-kept while the grass between the hedge and the forest grows higher and is still sprinkled with yellow dandelions. The summer after our first Games, and every other summer before that, the government made sure that the field was frequently mowed and free of weeds but after the war nobody's gotten around to it. We don't care much. It's rather nice to see the wild growing grass that nobody disturbs and Katniss loves the dandelions.

It's a warm summer's evening, but not quite as warm as it can be at this time of year. Katniss and I are both wearing full-length pants, I've got a sweater on and she wears a long cardigan. We sit together on the hammock, rocking slowly, enjoying the beautiful sight of the setting sun with all its oranges and pinks and blues. Katniss has her feet up on the cushion next to the one she's sitting on and she leans against me with her head on my shoulder and my arm wrapped loosely around hers. The soft fragrance of the primrose flowers fills the air and the only disturbance is the occasional mosquito we have to swat away.

Earlier today Katniss brought home a wild turkey, the first of the year, and we experimented with seasonings and vegetables and ended up with a quite refreshing casserole that we ate with wild rice and fresh salad. A lot of the things we put on the table have been hunted or gathered by Katniss or baked by me but there are some things we buy at the marketplace in town, which is only open during summer and autumn, or in the small grocery store that opened about a year ago. The wild rice is something they didn't originally sell at but Katniss asked them to bring it in from the Capitol and to our surprise they were able to do so within just a few weeks. Things have indeed changed a lot since the rebellion.

In a way it feels like we're still in some state of recuperating from our experiences during the rebellion. Nobody expects Katniss or me to really get a hold of our lives yet. She hunts, I bake and that's all we really do to feed ourselves. The money we won as victors of the 74th Hunger Games is still ours and in theory we never have to work another day in our lives but at some point people are going to expect us to contribute and not just loiter about and do whatever we feel like. It's almost as if we're on vacation, a very strange and often unpleasant form of vacation, but still an interlude between periods of work. I know this way of life has to come to an end at some point. We need more stability in our lives than to just float around and take each day as it comes. I'm just not sure I'm ready for that yet. I like having no pressure, no demands and no musts. I don't even know what I want to do when I reach the point where I am ready. Many people seem to expect me to have the bakery rebuilt or to open up a new one out here but I'm not at all convinced I want to do that. As much as I love the old family business it wouldn't be the same without my family and after the Hunger Games I came to realize that I enjoyed baking much more when I did it for my own sake and baked what I felt like baking rather than have it be a profession and something that came with boundaries and expectations. If I do the whole bakery thing anyway it will be on a smaller scale. I know there's no point anyway in trying to run a real bakery by myself. As for Katniss, I don't really know what she wants to do other than hunt. I will leave it up to her to figure it out.

"Sometimes when I see a picture of a deer or a wild boar what goes through my mind is picturing how I would kill it and later cook it," says Katniss, breaking the serene mood and smacking a mosquito between her hands.

"Utterly charming," I smirk.

"When you see a sunset like this, are you picturing how you could recreate it with your paint box?" she asks.

I take a moment to answer.

"Yes, sometimes. Not tonight, though."

She accepts the answer with a little noise in the back of her throat. Across the lawn we spot Buttercup coming back from a trek around his hunting grounds, what I like to refer to as him doing his evening rounds. He lazily crosses the yard, trots up to us on the back deck and with a grunt of greeting hops up on my lap where he curls up and yawns. Katniss, who has made better friends with the old cat than I ever expected her to, scratches behind his ear and then slowly strokes his fur. Buttercup purrs contently and yawns again.

"Will you stay for the night?" asks Katniss after a few minutes of silence.

"If you'll have me."

She looks up at me and smirks.

"Don't think you're going to get lucky just because I let you drool on the pillow next to mine."

I laugh lightly and place a kiss on the top of her head.

"Remind me before bed to go back to my place and get my pyjamas," I tease her back.

"Nah," she responds. "You probably won't be needing them."

I spend several nights of the week in her bed, on average about four or five. For the first month or so of our relationship we spent all nights together but it started to feel too intense, like we were moving too fast too soon. We're both still just teenagers, neither of whom have been in a real relationship before, and to go from not together almost living together at the drop of a hat was an enormous change. We both need some space from each other at times. Especially if I've had a flashback I want to be alone for the night but we have discovered that it's not so bad to long for each other every once in a while. We're never further apart at night than three houses down the road and we have an unspoken agreement that if we need the other it's okay to go to them. Sometimes when I'm sleeping alone in my own bed I wake up to find Katniss climbing in beside me after having a nightmare and sometimes when I wake up by myself and dreamt I lost her, or killed her, and I can't tell if it's real or not real I go over to her house and get into bed next to her.

Tonight is not one of the nights we'll spend apart. A small smile plays on my lips. The nights when we go to bed together usually entail having sex before going to sleep and getting to do that with Katniss is not something I think I can ever tire of. Her hand leaves Buttercup and lands on my thigh, slowly stroking close to the part of my body she only discovered last year but has loved to give attention to ever since. My smile widens at the gesture. Tonight is definitely going to be one of those nights where we fall asleep in a tangled mess, pleasurably exhausted in post-orgasmic haze.

"I love you," I tell her in a whisper against her hair. She responds by giving my thigh a light squeeze and making an "mmm" sound.

The two of us have survived two Hunger Games, a rebellion, the murder of people near and dear to us, the destruction of our home district, torture and the effects of highjacking but on nights like tonight none of that seems to really matter. Tonight we are just two nineteen year-olds in love, and getting to be together is all that matters.


	2. Age 20 - Katniss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the outline for this quite some time ago, which is the reason why it touches on a few themes I use in TCYDT. Here it's much more downplayed though. Katniss is a bit more "fluff-ish" at one point than I think is in-character for her but I figure it can balance out some of the angst in my other stories ;)

Two years ago I was as good as exiled to District 12 and I can't say it ever bothered me much to be forced to stay there. Twelve is still my home, for better or for worse, and I can't see how I would be any less miserable or happier in any other district. Even so it felt rather nice to receive an invitation from President Paylor to visit District 6 and partake in a three day conference that has been arranged to iron out some details on how Panem is going to be in the future. I don't care much about organization and I have precisely zero interest in contributing any own ideas but I like having the opportunity to overlook what is happening and voice my objections if I see anything that worries me. Peeta said it best when he said that it's comforting to know that decisions are being made openly and with room for objections and not secretly by a closed circle of people who can rule as they see fit.

Today is our second day in Six and we are staying in a large building that has recently been finished. It holds twenty-two separate apartments, all of them small and simple but just right for people of limited means who need a place to start out. Peeta's and my apartment consists of a kitchen about the size of the one we had in the house in the Seam, a bedroom holding little more than a bed, a dresser and a small television, and a bathroom. When we arrived yesterday we were first given keys to two separate rooms, since we're not married, but we both protested and got them house us in an apartment with a bed for two instead.

All afternoon yesterday we sat in on meetings and then we partook in a small and very informal dinner. Today there were meetings held until lunch but after that we were given the rest of the day off sine we chose not to sit in on the discussions on the fates of the few war criminals who have yet to be punished. Tomorrow there will be another full day of meetings, ending with a banquet of some sort. The day after tomorrow we can go back home.

I spent my free time today at the shooting range they have set up in a glade about twenty minutes away from where we are staying. I wasn't alone. Gale is here for the conference and took the afternoon off as well. He and I both went to the shooting range and had one of the most uncomfortable afternoons in recent memory. It's abundantly clear that the deep friendship we once shared has ended and we've grown apart. He doesn't seem to like me much anymore, much less love me. If anything we've mostly been annoyed with one another today. I can't come to terms with how aggressively he seems to view the world and he seems to find me weak.

It's a little over six in the afternoon and all I want to do is take a shower and then go down to the restaurant to have dinner. I'm sweaty and in a bad mood and I hope that I won't have to be social tonight. A quiet table for two, a quiet dinner, that is about all I can muster up the strength for.

The apartment is empty when I get there. I take a long, hot shower and put on some clean clothes. I'm not sure if I should wait for Peeta but it's past seven when I'm done in the bathroom and I'm starving. I wait another fifteen minutes and then I go downstairs to the restaurant and have my quiet dinner sitting by the bar. Nobody disturbs me and I'm very grateful for that.

After dinner I head to the ladies' room. I'm washing up in front of the large mirrors when two women I vaguely recognize from one of the meetings walk in. They look at me, share a look with each other and then come walking up. I hold back a sigh, hoping that whatever they want it will be brief and not too annoying.

They say hello, make some quick small talk about the meetings and the weather and then they share another look. Giggling like schoolgirls they then look at me expectantly.

"We heard you spent the day with Gale Hawthorne today," says one of them.

"For a while," I say, wondering where they're going with this.

"So..." says the other, giving me an expectant look. "Will there be any... reconnecting between the two of you?"

I give her a befuddled look. Her implication is clear as day.

"I'm with Peeta," I remind her. "Remember? Star-crossed lovers and all that?"

"Didn't they reveal that as fake while you were in Thirteen?" asks the second of the two women. "We were there. You two didn't exactly seem on good terms."

"For a reason," I say, not feeling the slightest bit inclined to explain mine and Peeta's relationship to the two of them. "That was a long time ago."

"Sure," nods the first of the women. "But, you know..."

"Know what?" I ask.

They share a look with each other, seeming a bit unsure now. Then they look back at me. I am quickly losing patience and interest and I reach for the soft cotton towels in a dispenser by the sink, aiming to dry my hands and leave, whether they are done talking to me or not.

"I guess we just... thought the thing with Peeta was for show and the real deal was you and Gale," one of the women finally says.

"How is it even any of your business?" I sigh, wiping my hands and throwing the towel in the trashcan. "Gale and I were friends. We're not even that anymore. Now if you'll excuse me."

"Touchy subject," I hear one of the women say on my way out.

"Bad time of the month," snorts the other.

I roll my eyes and resist the temptation of going back and snarling at them. They're not worth it. I'm rather irritated though, so instead of taking the elevator I take the stairs, running between floors to get to physical vent my state of mind. By the time I reach our floor I'm panting and my heart is pounding. At this point I'm definitely ready to call it a night and crawl under the covers.

I call out Peeta's name as I walk inside the apartment and can't help but smile a little when I hear him responding back. We haven't seen each other since lunch. There's something I really enjoy about one of us coming through the door at the end of the day and being greeted by the other. It reminds me of how my mother used to smile when she heard my father's footsteps approaching.

Kicking off my shoes and removing my cardigan I begin to relax, letting the awkward hours with Gale and the conversation with the two strangers wash off of me. I let the cardigan lie on the small, hard couch in the kitchen area and walk to the bedroom where I find Peeta sitting on the edge of the bed, unclasping his prosthetic.

"Hey you," I say, walking over to kiss his brow.

"Hey yourself," he answers. "Did you get anything to eat?"

"Yeah, you?"

He nods.

"We ate in the kitchen."

He spent the later part of the day in the large kitchen that belongs to the restaurant area, baking together with a few baker colleagues who work here. He told me this morning that they would be making cakes for the banquet. I requested the cakes he makes with pear-flavoured whipped cream and a chocolate coating but he chuckled and told me I would have to settle for something called a Pinocchio cake because it was easier to make in large enough quantities. He then described the cake in question to me and while it doesn't sound as delicious as pear and chocolate it still seems very interesting.

"How did the cake baking go?" I ask him as I walk over to the small vanity and pull the hairband from my braid.

"Made twenty large cakes," he answers. "For a gathering of fifty people. Less than ten cakes would have sufficed but who am I to argue with excess food?" He removes the prosthetic and lets it lie beside the bed. Sometimes he sleeps with it but oftentimes he feels it gets uncomfortable. "How was your day out in the woods?"

"It was okay," I say with little enthusiasm, untangling my braid with my fingers. "Gale was there."

"I know. Did you guys have a good time?"

There's something in his voice that surprises me a little. The slightest trace of an edge, something he doesn't normally have. I turn around and look at him carefully.

"Yeah, I suppose… So you know I was there with Gale?"

"Rumour travels fast around here," he says with a crooked grin that doesn't seem entirely genuine.

"There were rumours?"

He shrugs.

"People always seem to find the time for idle gossip."

"Yeah I know…" I say, thinking about the women in the bathroom. "I ran across a couple of twits who were real gossipy hens, right before I came back up here."

He nods and scoots a bit further up on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand. I study him carefully, wondering if he heard the same nonsense as those two women were spewing. I wouldn't think something like that would bother him but on the other hand we haven't yet been in a situation where jealousy could be an issue.

"What rumours did you hear?" I ask carefully.

"Nothing much. That you and Gale were off at the shooting range… reconnecting."

"I wouldn't call it that." I grab a hairbrush and run it through my hair, keeping my eyes on him. "Does it bother you? If I'm out there with Gale, I mean?"

"No," he says.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure, it doesn't bother me."

"Something else is bothering you, then."

He gives me a smile but I know him well enough to be able to tell that he's not as relaxed and content as he wants me to think he is.

"Katniss I don't mind you spending time with Gale. Really, I don't. I believe you love me and want to be with me and that you wouldn't do anything with him that…" He pauses and looks away, cringing for a second. "Okay I'm not entirely fine but it's not because you were in the woods with him."

"Then what is it?"

"I've been noticing that some people… look at me funny. People who saw me on TV when I attacked you on the Capitol streets and… Well, basically there are a few people here who seem to be nervous that I'll have another episode. And… I overheard a group of them talking about you and me, and you and Gale, and how… Well, basically how you would have been smarter to choose him."

"Peeta," I say with a frown, setting the comb down on the vanity.

"I know you love me. You've told me, not to mention shown me. I don't walk around harbouring doubts. You had ample opportunity to choose him before the war ended, before what happened to Prim, and you didn't."

"Well then what's the problem?"

He sighs heavily and runs a hand through his curly hair.

"I guess it just dawned on me that I'll never be able to escape it, you know? That image of me as a mutt. Also no matter how much I trust you it still hurts to hear strangers talk about how much better off you would be with the other guy you could have chosen."

"Peeta…" I say softly, walking over to the bed. Repeating his name I climb up in front of him and move so that I'm straddling him, my palms finding their way inside his unbuttoned shirt to rest on his chest. "Darling Peeta…" I say lovingly, in a tone I only ever think I've used with him. "My love."

He gives me a faint smile, his distress at what he overheard plainly written on his face yet seeming at least a little bit reassured.

"I know," he says gently. "I know… And I know that what those people think shouldn't matter at all."

"It bothers me, too," I tell him. "Knowing that they think that way about you… Even if it's only a few of them who think like that."

"I guess we can't fault them, though."

"They are wrong…" I say, my palms caressing his upper body slowly. "Even if I hadn't been able to be with you I wouldn't have chosen Gale. I knew that when I got out of the second arena. I knew it long before… before what happened to Prim. Maybe other people in Panem don't know it and cannot see it but they'll come to realize it in time. You are my love." I lean in and give him a soft kiss. I'm not usually this lovey-dovey but something about the situation makes me want to affirm my feelings for him, as if to prove that those people are wrong. "The one I chose. The one I will always choose. My beloved." I kiss him again and his arms wrap around me, making me feel good and loved and safe. "As for Gale, spending time with him today was quite uncomfortable. I would have preferred it if we hadn't been there at the same time."

"He was your best friend for a long time," says Peeta, his voice a touch gravelly. I grind against him a little and feel his body responding through the clothes that separate us. "I mean it when I say I trust you. I hate it, though, that people we don't even know think you should have made a different choice. I hate being judged by them." He draws a deep breath. "And I have to be perfectly honest with you, there are times when the doubts from the hijacking begin to resurface even though I know those are all lies. It's getting better, happening less and less often, but…"

While he talks I begin to pepper him with kisses and to slowly rock against him.

"I haven't given you reason to doubt me yet and I'm not going to," I say.

"I know. I know it's not fair but it's hard to fight it sometimes. Especially when I hear people talking here…"

"We'll just have to show them, I guess…" My lips press against his pulse point and he shivers. "Be a little extra cute and loving when we're out in public…" Another kiss along his jawline. His hands begin to caress my back. "Besides, if they think you're the wrong choice because you went crazy for a while then I say that makes you the  _right_  choice. I went pretty crazy too."

"You're not crazy," he mumbles against my lips, his breath hot on my mouth.

"Neither are you," I say, kissing him hotly. "You are my rock." As I say the last word I rock against him hard, for emphasis. He groans. "My stability." My hands find his cheeks and I kiss him again. "My love."

"My love," he mumbles back to me. His hands find their way inside my shirt and I sigh contently. "You're mine. Just like I'm yours."

"We're each other's."

Then he grabs a hold of me and with a yelp I find myself being spun around and lying on my back, Peeta on top of me. He doesn't use his wrestler moves in bed very often, especially not when his prosthetic is off, but I find it very arousing whenever he does. He stares into my eyes for a moment and I can tell there's still a trace of insecurity there. My hand reaches up and caresses his cheek and I hope the look in my eyes is enough to tell him that I want no one but him. Finally a smile appears on his face and he gives me a soft, tender kiss.

"We have ample time to convince people we are in love for real," he says. "We have all our lives to do that."

"We do," I nod, feeling a thrilling sensation run through me at the thought of so much time together. "In fact… We don't have to make an appearance at the banquet tomorrow. We could just stay here, in bed together…"

"It's just one night," says Peeta softly. "Being alone with you sounds perfect but we have any number of such nights and there won't be another chance to be at that banquet. Who knows, we might even have a good time?"

"We could have a better time in bed," I say suggestively, raising my eyebrows.

Peeta chuckles. Then he leans down and gives me a long, loving kiss, rocking his pelvis against mine.

"I wouldn't mind having a good time with you right now," he murmurs against my lips.

 

 

 

 

Afterward we lie wrapped in each other's arms, sharing a pillow, peace and tranquillity filling the room. My hand caresses Peeta's cheek and we smile at each other.

"You trust in my love for you," I say. "Real or not real?"

"If I say 'not real', will you prove your feelings for me again?" he jokes. He chuckles at my frown and pulls me closer. "Yes, Katniss, I do trust in your feelings for me. And as long as I have that I can put up with the looks and the whispers and the remarks."

"All the same," I say, "I'm staying glued to your hip at the banquet tomorrow. Anybody who dares say anything negative about my boyfriend will be not-so-gently reminded that I'm not a person you want to mess with."

He kisses my brow and I settle in his embrace, wrapping my arm across his chest, sighing contently as I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are interested in the "baking Peeta" aspects, pinocchio cakes are fairly common in Sweden (and really delicious) but I don't know if they have an English language equivalent. If you're curious about it you can try googling "pinocchiotårta"!


	3. Age 21 - Peeta

With a loaf of bread in a textile bag in one hand and a mug of steaming hot coffee in the other I use my elbow to press down the door handle and nudge Haymitch's back door open. It's a little tricky to get the door open without spilling any of the coffee but I've done this numerous times before and I'm getting the hang of it. I used to bring only bread whenever I stopped by but after learning to drink coffee myself in the morning to get energized for the day I've taken to bringing some to Haymitch as well. He can't spend every day sleeping until noon. I know why he does it but it's not good for him.

"Hey!" I call out as I use my foot to kick the door shut behind me. I groan at the unpleasant smell that fills the house and grit my teeth at the mess of dirty clothes and even dirtier dishes lying around in the room. "Haymitch, you up?"

I get no answer so I head for the kitchen. It's an even bigger mess than the rest of the house and smells worse and there's no denying I find it gross. I've been raised to keep a clean kitchen and it annoys me to no end that Haymitch seems to treat this particular room as a slag heap. How does he get the urge to prepare food in this stench? Not to mention eat a single bite. It's revolting.

I place the coffee mug on the table, using my arm to brush a collection of assorted junk down on the floor to make some room, and bring the bag with the bread over to the counter in search of a cutting board and a knife.

"Haymitch!" I bellow, wondering if he's sleeping downstairs or if I'll have to go upstairs to get him awake.

"Here's an idea for a new routine," mutters Haymitch as he comes stumbling into the kitchen a minute later, his hair on end and his face marked with sleep. "You send a loaf of bread with Katniss in the morning, she brings it to me when she returns from her animal murdering trip in the woods, and on the way she stops and buys me some white liquor. That way everybody wins."

"How does  _anybody_  win in that equation?" I challenge. As he slumps in a chair by the table I bring the cutting board, the knife and my bag over to him. "I'd have to get up earlier to bake before she leaves, she'd have to enable your drinking and let's face it, that bread would be in her stomach hours before she's done hunting."

"It's a pretty sick world we live in when a young woman would steal bread from her old mentor," grumbles Haymitch, grabbing the knife to cut himself a slice of bread.

"Sleep well?" I ask dryly.

"Until you showed up."

"Drink the coffee. You need it."

He takes the mug and makes a grimace when he tastes the beverage. It's at least three times as strong as the coffee I drink in the morning but I figure he needs much more to rouse him than I do.

"There's hardly any room for you to even eat at this table anymore," I comment, seeing him look for a good place to set the mug down.

"None of your concern."

"And yet it still concerns me."

I take one look at the kitchen counter and force myself not to sigh. At least the dirty dishes means he's eating proper food. Too bad he's also appearing to be growing penicillin for an entire hospital ward. Topping off the mess of dirty plates, unwashed glasses and burned pots are at least three kitchen towels, dirty and wet and probably crawling with bacteria. How he can live and eat in this mess and not get sick is a question for the ages.

"Leave it, boy," says Haymitch, probably reading my intentions on my face. "I can take care of my own damn dirty dishes."

"Yeah," I scoff, eyeing the room. "Exhibit A."

"Don't you clean enough kitchens as it is with your whole bakery thing?" he asks, referring to the bakery I opened three months ago. I only keep it open Saturdays and Sundays, feeling it best to start small, and the only people working there are me and Katniss.

"Apparently I don't," I answer his question as I begin to fill the sink with warm water.

"That place must be a blast when you and your feistier half are on the outs with each other," he notes as he leans back in his chair and burps.

"Yeah, like that happens often. When it does she manages the store and I stay in the kitchen," I reply, not sure why I'm bothering to answer what was undoubtedly a rhetorical remark.

"I bet your customers prefer it when you're not getting along, then. If Katniss is in the kitchen you've got nobody managing the desk and probably no edible baked goods."

"You think that by insulting my girlfriend you're going to get me to rethink cleaning your pigsty of a kitchen?"

"I just enjoy insulting you and your girlfriend."

I roll my eyes and begin to clear the sink of cardboard boxes and paper towels so that I can fill it up with water and get to work on the dishes.

"You're going to get sick if you continue to live like this," I can't help but commenting.

"That's crap," snorts Haymitch. "I've lived like this since before you lived at all and I don't get sick any more often than the next person."

"Don't you  _want_  more order around you?" Making a face I grab a set of dirty plates and carefully drop them into the now water-filled sink. "When Hazelle was your housekeeper this place was nice and I refuse to believe you didn't like it better that way."

"Enough now,  _mother._ "

" _Mother_?" I echo, surprised and a tad bit offended that he used the female parental. "Look, I just want you to have a nice home. I want to be able to come visit you without feeling sick to my stomach. Do you seriously not notice how much this place  _smells_?"

"With this attitude you're very welcome not to come visit."

I refrain from further comment and focus on the dishes. While Haymitch eats I debate with myself just how big of an effort I should be making with the cleaning. There doesn't seem to be much point to it unless I do it properly but that would take me all day. Just cleaning the kitchen would have me here until lunch.

I can't help but wonder what would happen if Haymitch met someone and brought her home to this pigsty. Who'd want to stick around? I don't suspect Haymitch is thinking anything along those lines but his loneliness concerns me. The thought of him being cooped up here all alone most of the time does not sit well with me. I remember how tough and saddening it was to move from a house of five to a five times larger house with only me. How badly it stung that my family didn't move with me, no matter how much they all insisted that it would be too much trouble to not live at the bakery. My mother was actually concerned they might take the bakery away from them if they no longer lived on the premises and she might have been right about that but it was depressing all the same. I know there's a difference between being alone and being lonely but spending your entire life in the kind of solitude Haymitch does can't be good for anyone. He might cherish his solitude on occasion, maybe even most of the time, but I know that if he had had a choice, he would not have ended up living by himself. He had a family once. He was in love with someone. Then Show took all of that away.

I finish with the dishes and move on to clearing the counter. Haymitch, now done with both bread and coffee, remains sitting at the table, eyeing me as I work. If he really wanted me gone he would leave the room and head back to bed and the fact that he doesn't suggests to me that he likes having my company.

"Don't take this the wrong way…" I begin carefully, scrubbing a particularly sticky stain with a sponge.

"Nobody asked you to clean up," he grumbles.

"That's not what I was going to talk about." With an irritated huff I grab the bottle of cleaning spray, which I'm sure either Katniss or I must have bought, and attack the stain with more than just the sponge. "It's just… When was the last time you had a visitor besides me or Katniss?"

"Lenny wandered in through the back door a few days ago."

"Geese don't count."

"I'm not much for human company."

"Doesn't it get lonely?"

Haymitch studies me for a minute before answering. I can see the wheels in his head turning as he tries to figure out what I'm going for. He can read Katniss very well but I've always been more difficult for him to figure out.

"Since when are you concerned that I'm lonely?" he finally asks.

"It's a big house to live in all by yourself. Trust me, I know." Proceeding with caution I bring up a subject I can only assume must still be a sore spot. "You never tell us much about your… social life over the years. I know the other mentors were your friends and I know you enjoy our company so I know you're not a hermit." Finally I get the stain out and I throw the sponge in the trash, opting to use a new one to clean the rest of the counter. "Has there been… Has there been anyone else? Since your girl died, I mean?"

I make sure not to look at him right now but I can guess that he's got a pretty unfriendly scowl on his face.

"Not everyone needs to have a someone to be happy, boy," comes the answer, the tone low but not entirely hostile.

"This is you happy?" I challenge.

"You think a woman would turn my life into one full of sunshine and rainbows?"

My instinctive response is to answer yes. I know that the pain and darkness he lives with will not disappear overnight, or perhaps even at all, through the magic of love and companionship, but I do believe it could make his life much, much better. I think of my own life, the terrors and the haunting memories and the thing dr. Aurelius calls post-traumatic stress. It's a lot to live with and my life will never be carefree and, well, full of sunshine and rainbows, but the presence of one Katniss Everdeen makes life not just endurable but sometimes filled with incredible joy and emotional satisfaction. Love is something the darkness cannot overshadow.

I think back to two nights ago when we went to bed early and made love. I think of the way my heart leaps with joy when she looks at me with lust and passion and like she can't get enough of me. How soothing it is to the sadness in our lives to be able to give her pleasure and to have her give pleasure to me. My heart is overcome with warmth and happiness when I think of the words she whispered to me while looking at me with that look in her eyes. Katniss, who used to say very little in bed, has over the past three years become more verbal and sometimes I'm not sure she's fully aware of what she's saying. The words just seem to be slipping out of her when the moment overcomes her. It's my greatest privilege to be the one she says those things to, the one she feels comfortable and secure enough with to enjoy intimacy in every definition of the word. During sex two days ago the words " _I'm so in love_ " fell from her lips and it brought me such joy and such affection for her that I needed a moment to gather my composure. She, as most often, was unaware of the effect she has and was surprised when I needed a moment.

Not everybody needs this kind of togetherness in order to be happy or lead a fulfilled life, I know and can understand that. I do however think that finding something like what Katniss and I have, finding something even a third as fulfilling even, would do wonders for Haymitch and help heal his wounded soul. There are some things that are so difficult to live with that having someone in your life to help carry that burden can make all the difference. Moreover I have no doubt that Haymitch didn't  _choose_  a life of seclusion. It was the only option he saw available to him after Snow had his family and his girlfriend killed. That, in my opinion, is not the same as not needing a relationship in order to be happy.

"I think you deserve to have love," I answer his question. "I think it would do you good. Katniss and I love you and are your family, but we cannot take the place of a romantic partner."

"Boy I have lived this way for a very long time," says Haymitch, leaning forward over the table. I walk over and begin to gather the garbage, the clothes and the various other times sitting on the surface and he lets me stay near. "I don't want to make room in my life for a woman. I don't want to have to compromise, I don't want to give up half the bed and I don't want  _my_  home to suddenly also be somebody  _else's_  home. I get that you don't understand that but I do expect you to respect it."

"I'm not setting you up with someone, or anything."

"You'd better not be." He gives me a strange look that makes me frown. "The relationship issue is a little too important to you, though, it seems. Peeta do you ever think you and Katniss might be too co-dependent?"

The question has me flummoxed. I don't even understand what it's supposed to mean. I know Katniss and I lean on each other and count on each other to carry us through the difficulties we're faced with, something that began way back in our first arena. I've never seen it as being co-dependent, whatever that means.

"We're not," I answer, giving Haymitch a look.

"No need to turn your spines out. I know you're in love and it's good that you have each other. Did you ever stop to think though that you might be taking it a bit too far? You can have a loving relationship without depending on one another for everything."

"Katniss and I need each other in all the right ways," I say, giving him another wary look as I fill the trash bag up with assorted junk from the table. "You make it sound like we can't go get the mail without each other's company. You don't see Katniss anywhere here right now, do you? We're perfectly capable of getting by alone, we just don't want to." 

"That's not entirely true though, is it? Before you moved in with her I saw the pair of you running from one house to the other if you didn't start the night off in the same bed. A healthy relationship leaves room for things like being able to sleep through the night on your own."

"You don't know what you're talking about," I say defensively. "And why _should_ we want to be apart? We were kept apart against our will for months, kept apart physically and emotionally and god knows what, and now no one can do that to us again! We've lost out on enough. We should we want to be apart?"

"Being in love with one another doesn't mean you can't be co-dependent."

"You see only what you want to see."

"And you see me as being unhappy because I don't need another person in my life. You're not going to be able to always be together with Katniss – you realize that, right? I think you'd be well off taking a step back and learning to handle life on your own, at least for a day at a time." He gives me a pointed look. "You remember how Katniss' mother crumbled when her husband died. Do you want that to happen to Katniss too, or do you want her to be able to get a grip and move forward if you end up dead before she is?"

I snort and tie up the garbage bag, refusing to answer. Of course I don't want Katniss to fall to pieces and lose the will to live if I were to die but she and I need each other. We pull each other through. At least at this point in our lives, just a few short years after two Hunger Games, a war, the loss of our families and having been burned in an explosion. I don't think it's fair to demand that we be able to hold everything together without one another just yet. That's not what she and I do. We save each other, protect each other. Right now we're at a place where we need one another and I'm not going to feel bad about the best thing in my life.

"I think you're just telling yourself all of this to make yourself feel better," I say, though I know it's unfair. "And you win. I won't try to tidy up this garbage disposal of a house. Not much point anyway. You'd have it back in the same condition by next morning."

"Stepped on some tender toes there, did I?" asks Haymitch smugly.

"Have a nice day, old man."

With those parting words I head for the door, the large garbage bag flung over my shoulder. Stepping outside and filling my lungs with fresh air feels like heaven.

 

 

 

 

Once back home I find I need to change my clothes as the smell from Haymitch's house seems to have permeated the fabric of my t-shirt and slacks. Either that or it's just stuck in my nose and won't go away for hours yet. I take a shower and change into clean clothes and feel a bit better after that.

I head down to the kitchen and grab the recipe book from its place on the shelf by the table. The book is a pet project of mine, modelled after Katniss' plant book, in which I try to recreate all the things my parents used to bake and jot down the recipes once I'm convinced I've gotten them right. My mother and father kept most of their recipes in their own heads but the two books they did have were of course lost in the bombings. I don't want all those recipes to be gone forever so I do what I can to preserve them. Some recipes are easy, ones I've been following day in and day out since childhood, but others are trickier. There were some things we only baked on special order, other things we only baked at certain times of the year. Some of them I never participated in baking myself but I was lucky enough to get a taste every now and then. It can take me days sometimes to try and recreate the recipes for those kind of breads and treats, experimenting with different spices, flours and methods. For the past two days I've been trying to bake teacakes the way my father did, as a type of soda bread. It's been going so-so.

While I work my mind wanders and keeps going back to my conversation with Haymitch. Do I depend too much on Katniss? Does she depend too much on me? To what degree would that be a bad thing? Katniss Everdeen loving me and needing me is all I ever dreamed to hope for. Am I now supposed to think that's not good? That it might in fact be a disadvantage for her to feel that connected to me?

These thoughts stay in my head and almost distract me from the work at hand. I don't even hear the door opening or Katniss coming inside the house and leaving her hunting gear in the hallway. It's not until I feel a pair of hands sneaking around my waist, working their way up to land on my chest, her cheek resting against my shoulder and her body pressing against my back that I know she's come back home. I'm filled with affection for her, in love with her simple gesture of showing me she's missed me and she's glad to be back home with me. It's a small and simple thing but it means so much. Maybe it is co-dependent but there's beauty in it.

"I've missed you," I tell her in greeting, hoping that knowing that makes her feel the same way I feel knowing that she's missed me.

She makes a sound in the back of her throat that tells me she's smiling at my words and she rocks us back and forth a few times.

"What's my man been up to?" she asks. "Making any progress with the teacakes?"

"I… honestly have no idea," I confess. "How was the woods?"

"The usual." Her lips press a kiss against my neck and then she moves away from me to fetch her game bag from the kitchen table where she apparently put it before walking up to me. "I wasn't able to catch anything so I stopped by the market and got us some broccoli. I thought we could combine it with the other veggies we've got left and make a pie. What do you think?"

"Sounds good," I nod. I move over to the oven and remove the last batch of teacakes. "We could have these with the pie, assuming they're edible."

I look over at her just in time to catch her rolling her eyes as she hops up on the kitchen island, bag of broccoli in hand.

"Everything you bake is  _edible_. It's tiresome that you second-guess yourself to that degree every time it takes you more than a day to remember a recipe right."

I chuckle and grab the broccoli bag to put it in the fridge at the same time as I take out butter and cheese.

"Well, you never know. One of these days I'll stumble upon a combination that tastes horrible and not even Haymitch's geese will want to eat the finished product." I grab one of the teacakes that has had time to cool off a bit and begin to butter it. "I'm not even sure what I added to the mix this time so I guess it would suck if it turns out to be the correct recipe. Here, try it."

I walk over to her, handing her the bread, and she takes a bite with a scowl on her face. She chews slowly and the scowl stays in place but it doesn't seem to be a reaction to the bread. I take a bite for myself and decide that it tastes okay but not right.

"Is something the matter?" she asks. "It's not like you to be too distracted to know what you put in your experiments."

I hand her the rest of the bread and shrug a shoulder, walking back to the counter to take care of the rest of the baked goods.

"I had a… weird conversation with Haymitch. Nothing to worry about." I don't want to tell her what he said because I don't want her to have any concerns about whether or not our relationship is healthy. She can overthink things and if  _I'm_  overthinking this she's bound to be even more preoccupied with it than I have been today. So instead I choose to focus on something else. "I'm a little bit worried that he's lonely."

She seems to ponder it for a second while chewing on another bite of bread. Then she shrugs a shoulder and swallows, jumping down from her seat.

"He knows where to find us if he wants company."

"That's not the kind of loneliness I meant."

She walks up and stands beside me, leaning her back against the counter.

"If he is lonely then only Haymitch can do anything to rectify it," she says. "We have to let him choose for himself if he wants to be alone or with somebody."

I nod slightly, choosing to leave the subject at that. She seems to sense though that I'm not entirely at peace. When I finish putting the bread into bags and placing them in a neat row on the counter she turns to me and pulls me into her arms, kissing my shoulder gently before resting her cheek against it. She doesn't say a word and she doesn't have to. I pull her closer and try not to think of how painfully empty the rest of my life would be without her in it.

I don't know how to define what we share, what we are or what that means in our lives. With Katniss holding me close I decide it doesn't really matter. As long as she and I feel good because of it then to me it will be healthy. As for Haymitch's possible loneliness, I guess she's right.


	4. Age 22 - Katniss

I wake up with a strangled gasp, my heart pounding in my chest and sweat covering my brow. I stare silently into the darkness for a few moments while I try to get my bearings, try to get my heartbeat to slow down. No matter how many times I wake up from a nightmare I can never seem to grow accustomed to it.

At least tonight I didn't wake up screaming and thrashing. In the silence of our bedroom I can hear Peeta's steady breathing behind me, telling me that he is still asleep. The clock on the nightstand shows that it's just past three in the morning. We went to sleep a little over four hours ago and I should let him continue to sleep undisturbed so he can hopefully get a full eight hours without waking up from either his own or my nightmares.

I know, however, that I won't be able to let him continue sleeping tonight. I had a painful nightmare in which something that was never clear in the dream came between us and he left me to move to another district where I would never get to see him again. In comparison to the other nightmares I have this is very timid and decidedly non-violent but it frightens me nonetheless. Just knowing that he is with me in bed doesn't do much to calm me down, either. Often when I dream about losing him he stays with me for a while in the dream even though he doesn't want to anymore and for that reason I need more than his physical presence to feel better. I need to hear his reassuring voice and see him look into my eyes in the way people only do when they love the one they're looking at. I need reassurance that he is still mine and that he's not going to go away.

I twist in his arms until I am lying face to face with him. My movements wake him up and he grunts a little before reluctantly opening his eyes and squinting at me. When he sees that I'm just repositioning myself he closes his eyes again, lets out a sleepy sigh, smacks his mouth and then swallows. The stump of his left leg moves against my knee until he finds a comfortable position. He will be back asleep in less than a minute if I don't bother him but I guess he's out of luck tonight. I gently caress his cheek and give his lips a light peck.

"Peeta..." I whisper.

"Mmm..." he mumbles in reply, not opening his eyes.

"Wake up for a minute."

Very reluctantly he opens his eyes, frowning at me.

"What's wrong?" he asks sleepily.

"Nothing," I lie. "I just need to tell you something."

"Can it wait till morning?"

"If I wait I might forget it and I don't want to forget it."

" _I_  will most likely forget it if you tell me now."

"Please darling, it's important."

He yawns and rolls over on his back, resting his head on his left palm. His right arm wraps around me as I rest my upper body on his and lift my head up to look at him.

"I've figured out one of the things I want you to vow."

It's been five months now since Peeta and I decided to get married. We hadn't really talked about it before but in mid-January we travelled to the Capitol for Effie Trinket's wedding. Our old escort is now Mrs. Tiro Tortora, a name I still can't quite wrap my mind around but she seems to like it a lot since she keeps sending us post-cards with her married name written in gold all around the margins. Tiro is of a fine Capitol pedigree which matters very little to the general population these days but will always matter immensely to the likes of Effie. He holds a legislative position in the government though I'm not entirely sure what it is he does. All that really matters to me is that he seems to be a perfect fit for Effie and at the wedding she was happier than I have ever seen her before.

The night following the wedding, when Peeta and I were wrapped in each other's arms in the early hours of the morning, I brought up the idea of marriage. Marriage itself never really held any allure to me; I've always viewed it as an institution for bearing children and as the only way two people in love can have a life and a home together. Once the war was over that last part was not true anymore. When we were no longer under government control we were no longer dependent on them to assign us our homes and we were free to move in with, and build a life and home with, whomever we choose. For that reason it never seemed important to me that Peeta and I should get married. If anything I disliked the notion of becoming his wife because that's what President Snow wanted. I was already Peeta's anyway, the title itself wouldn't make a difference.

But that night, after having watched dear old Effie get married and felt all the love and encouragement that hung in the air I realized that I might have had the idea of marriage wrong. Maybe it is about more than being under the Capitol's control and being allowed to share a life together and the inevitable birth of children. What I saw at Effie's wedding was that marriage could also be a way to solidify your commitment to one another, give the person you love your future in every way, declare to the world that you want to belong together and that you are an unbreakable unit. I realized I deeply wanted to share that with Peeta and to have us be a couple in every way we could be, committed to each other in every way possible. So before we went to sleep that night I told him what I thought and how I felt and asked if he felt the same way. It's a memory I often revisit when I'm feeling sad; the way he looked at me in that moment and how happy I could tell I was making him always makes me feel better when thinking about it.

Our wedding is scheduled to take place in late August. For the most part the plans are progressing just fine. We were both firmly against a public wedding but while we originally discussed a small and toned-down affair we have now landed on a slightly bigger event. There will be around thirty guests and instead of having a reception at our house we have decided to have it outdoors, on the field between our house and the fence. A very excited Delly Cartwright is helping us arrange everything and it is all running very smoothly.

Except for the part about the vows.

Getting married is of course not as simple as signing documents and toasting bread, not anymore. District wedding rituals have been evolving and developing all over Panem in the years since the war. Some rituals make it to every district while others have only been adopted in a few, and even within each district there are variations. A few of the most popular traditions have been made part of the official wedding ceremony and are now required at each wedding to make the marriage legal. One such tradition is that of the vows.

The way the vows work is that the bride and groom each make three vows during the ceremony. The vows you make are ones your soon-to-be spouse have asked you to make. In other words, I write Peeta's vows and he writes mine. The idea is that each person gets to ask three things of the other that will set the tone for the marriage and at the wedding the other person makes those vows officially. Breaking a vow is legal grounds for a divorce. The problem is that neither Peeta nor I can think of anything to ask of the other.

There are, of course, simple standard vows one can use. You can ask your partner to vow fidelity, support and eternal love but all of that seems pointless to me. I don't need Peeta to vow to me that he will forsake all other women for my sake. I already know that he will, just as he knows I will never be unfaithful to him. Then there are more domestic vows one can make, such as making vows over who cooks and who cleans, but that sounds rather depressing to me in the context. If we are to make each other vows on our wedding day then they should be about something more poignant than who does the dishes and takes out the garbage.

I just can't think of anything I want Peeta to  _vow_  to me. Sure there are things I would like him to do for me over the course of our lives and certain expectations I have but blatantly asking him to promise me those things at our wedding seems very unromantic. I don't want to tether him to promises made in our early twenties when we don't know what life is going to throw at us. Peeta feels the same way and hasn't been able to think of anything to ask for me to vow.

Which is why he looks a little surprised now that I'm telling him I know what I want one of his vows to be.

"I want you to promise me that from the moment of our wedding to the moment when one of us dies I will never have to go a single day without you."

He takes a moment to answer.

"I'm not going to promise you that, Katniss."

His reply takes me by surprise and after the nightmare I just had it frightens me to hear him say such a thing. Why would he refuse to make a vow like that? I can feel my heart begin to beat stronger as I start to worry for real.

"What do you mean?" I ask with a scowl. "Why not?"

"I won't stand there on our wedding day and make vows I don't know if I can keep."

His answer doesn't calm me down one bit. My frown deepens and I lift myself up a little further.

"Why wouldn't you be able to keep such a promise?" I ask, irritation clear in my voice. "Is there any reason why we wouldn't be able to see each other at least once every day? We're going to be  _married_."

"I'm not saying I don't  _want_  to be able to promise you that," says Peeta, more awake now. "I just don't think it's realistic. Say, for the sake of argument, that your mother is ill and you need to go to her but I can't leave because I have to work. That's all it takes for me to have to break that promise."

"Then promise me that you will try to have us spend at least part of each day together, from the wedding to the end."

"Okay," nods Peeta. "I'll promise you that." His promise makes me calm down enough that I notice he's looking at me with the love and affection I wanted to see when I woke him up. His hand reaches up and caresses my cheek and with that simple gesture my worry and my discomfort melts away.

"Good," I say softly.

"Good." He pauses. "I still can't think of even one thing I want you to vow to me."

A sudden grin flashes across my face.

"How about..." I say, running my hand down his chest, dipping under the waistband of his underwear.

His eyebrows shoot up and he gives me a pleased but incredulous look.

"That's something you think you ought to promise me in front of our friends and family?"

I laugh and move my hand down further.

"It would be rather fun seeing the looks on everybody's faces..."

"Okay then," smirks Peeta, moving his other hand so that his head is resting on both his hands. "You can promise me that at least once a week you will wake me up in ways that you know I much appreciate."

"But what about at night time?" I ask innocently as my hand begins to touch him in less than innocent ways.

"I have some ideas for that as well." His voice is deeper, a touch hoarse, just the way I want him to sound. "I just need to decide which one I want to go with, to make it as shocking as possible."

"I can't wait to hear what you come up with," I laugh and lean down to kiss him.

"It will be dirty, I can assure you." His hands move and cradle my face as he kisses me sloppily before pulling back with a smirk. "After all,  _I_ ' _m_  not the one whose mother will be there."

That realization puts an end to my laughter, and to the movements of my hand, but the sudden scowl that appears instead makes Peeta laugh.

"Just give me a couple of weeks and I'll think of something suitable," he tells me. "Something non-sexual and suitable, I mean." He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair from my face in a soft, loving gesture. At the moment the mood has changed from sexual to emotional but I don't mind. "The thing is though, all I really want you to promise me is that you'll share your life with me and let me share mine with you... and you'll be promising that anyway. That, in itself, is more than I ever dared to hope for."

I lay my head down on his chest and let out a small sigh. I can hear the steady beating of his heart, soothing and reassuring. The blonde hairs on his chest tickle my nose a little and when I take a deep breath he smells lightly of sweat and very much of his own natural scent. I can't stop myself from thinking back to the nights I used to rest my head on his chest when I still didn't understand how I felt about him and to the nights when I lay awake in District 13 wondering what Snow's henchmen were doing to him, petrified that I might never get to fall asleep to the sound of his steadily beating heart again.

"I just don't want to have to long for you," I tell him in the darkness. "I did more than enough of that when you were in Snow's captivity and when you first came to Thirteen and were hijacked. Longing to see you in the evening when we've spent the day apart is one thing but I never want to have to long and ache and miss and know that you're not within walking distance from me. Not ever again. I've done that enough to last me a lifetime."

"You say that now," replies Peeta and I can hear from the tone in his voice that he is smirking. "Wait until we've been married forty years and you're sick and tired of staring at my face every day."

I don't find that very probable. More likely I'll grow increasingly dependent on him and end up being unable to function at all if he's not around. The thought of it is distressing in a way but after everything I've been through and everything I've lost I find I don't care if I lose some of my independence. I've lost Peeta before and now that I have him safe in my arms and in my heart I would rather give some of my independence to him than lose him again.

"I will love you until my heart stops beating," I tell him. "And I will never grow sick and tired of looking at you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he teases. "Go to sleep, already."

I give him a playful smack and he laughs.

"Is that what I get for bearing my soul?" I ask.

"If you insist on doing so in the middle of the damn night." Any other night his teasing words wouldn't bother me at all but given the nightmare that woke me up his response to what I just said to him hurts a little. Before the feeling can take hold he wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer. "Seriously though, you are everything to me and you always will be. It's a luxury to be the one you wake up in the middle of the night."

The smile returns to my face and I feel an almost painfully strong sense of love and relief. Sighing with contentment I close my eyes to drift off to sleep.

"It is an even greater luxury to have you here beside me when I wake up from a nightmare in the dead of night," I whisper.

The kiss he places at the top of my head in response is the last thing I am aware of before falling back asleep.


	5. Age 23 - Peeta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had only written the first scene for this when I woke up this morning but I noticed the date and felt I had to manage an update =) Fairly short, hopefully entertaining.

I wake up early in the morning and deeply regret that I didn't stay asleep. For a moment I'm not entirely sure I'm not lying by the river in the first arena having only dreamt the past seven years because the way I'm feeling at present is eerily reminiscent of the way I felt in that arena, dehydrated and suffering the effects of tracker jacker stings. My head is pounding and even the small motion of moving my eyes aches to an unreasonable amount. My mouth feels as dry as sand paper and my tongue feels big and fuzzy. The taste in my mouth is absolutely horrible. On top of that I am nauseous and listless and find myself stuck in a limbo between needing to get out of bed and going to the bathroom to vomit and never ever wanting to move another muscle for as long as I live.

I keep my eyes squinted shut until I hear the unbearably sharp sound of a glass hitting the wooden surface of the nightstand hard enough to make some of the water in the glass splash over. I force one eye open and spot the tall glass full of water. Katniss' hand is wrapped around it and I slowly move my head a little so I can glance up at her. She looks the picture of health so whatever is ailing me it's not some disease that has struck us both at the same time. Going by her disapproving frown I brought this on myself.

"Drink the water," she orders.

"I might throw up if I do," I groan.

"Drink it."

Mustering all the strength I can gather I sit myself up on my elbow and grab the glass. Slowly I swallow a gulp of water, finding it almost impossible to get it down. The glass feels heavy in my hand and I really want to put it back down but the sound of my wife's voice seems unusually sharp this morning and for once I'm not longing to hear it so I make myself swallow five more gulps before I set the glass down.

"How do you feel?" asks Katniss.

"I can't believe Haymitch willingly puts himself in this state over and over," I complain, rolling over on my back.

Memories of the previous night are beginning to come back to me. One of my few surviving school friends, Jake, is getting married next week and those of us who remain from our old group had a party last night to celebrate. It's becoming more and more common for friends to take grooms and brides to be out for a last night of partying before they get married but it's the first time I've partaken in such a celebration. Right now I'm determined it's never going to happen again.

Katniss' soft hand lands on my brow followed by her lips. Despite the previous disapproving look she sported she now seems tender and caring. I must be a pathetic mess if despite her annoyance she can't help but pity me.

"First time you ever got really drunk?" she asks in a low voice.

"First time I got any sort of drunk," I admit.

"Do you remember everything you did last night?"

I slowly shake my head no. The previous night is partly a blur. I remember heading out with the guys, I remember playing sports and heading off to one of the three restaurants in the district and I remember leaving the restaurant to go to Ben's place and drink some more. I've had a few glasses of wine in my day but never enough to have much effect on me. One glass of wine with dinner won't make anyone drunk, I suppose. Last night it was far more than one glass and it was not wine. What happened after we arrived at Ben's place is mostly a blur which makes me concerned. I have a deeply rooted hate for not remembering things clearly and not being able to trust my own memories. I open one eye and look at Katniss with a worried face.

"I know I wanted to stop when I started feeling dizzy... but Jake was going on and on about how we all had to keep drinking because it was his last week of bachelorhood, though don't ask me how those two things are connected."

"Well you were able to get home on your own," offers Katniss. "Don't worry about the rest. Just rest and keep drinking more water. You're probably dehydrated."

"Katniss I seriously think I might vomit," I admit.

"You did three times last night so I put a bucket by the bed."

At hearing that I groan and close my eyes again, feeling terribly embarrassed.

"I can't believe that," I complain. "God, I'm as bad as Haymitch. Tell me I at least didn't vomit on myself, or worse, on  _you_."

"No, you vomited in the bathtub," she answers, sounding amused. "With nobody  _in_  the tub, I should add."

"Perfect," I sigh, curling up on my side again.

"Get some rest," suggests Katniss. "You need to drink a lot of water and get something salty in you so I'll go downstairs and fix you something. Don't worry about it, Peeta. Hangovers don't last more than a day."

"Then how come Haymitch can look hung-over for days on end?"

"Extreme dedication." Her soft lips press against my forehead again. "Close your eyes, honey, and get some sleep. I'll be back in fifteen minutes."

"I'm mortified that you should have to look after me when I brought this on myself," I complain.

"What are wives for?" she says softly. "I think you can allow yourself one hangover every five years or so without feeling like a despicable human being."

"I don't think I can do this again in another five years."

She giggles and leaves the room. I pull my knees up towards my chest and take slow, deep breaths to fight the nausea. Why do people get drunk over and over if this is what happens the day after? The drunkenness itself wasn't even all that fun. It was just blurry and spinning and even though I was intoxicated I knew I was acting like an idiot. They say that alcohol dulls pain but even if that's true while it's in your system it only makes things worse the next day.

After a while I hear Katniss' footsteps coming back up the stairs. I force myself to sit up and then I cover my mouth with my hand, scared I might vomit. My wife appears in the doorway, looking chipper and healthy, carrying a tray with a glass of water and a ham sandwich.

"I can't eat that," I say immediately.

"Try." She sets the tray down on her nightstand and gets up on the bed next to me. "You need salt. Salt and water."

"Won't the water dilute the salt?" I ask tiredly.

"Just eat and drink."

"Later," I say, closing my eyes and fighting a wave of nausea. "Is it ridiculously bright in here or is it just me?"

"It's mostly you. I can pull the curtains if you'd like."

"Yes please."

I feel the bed dip as she moves off of it and I hear her moving about in the room. Then the curtains are pulled and the room gets darker, making me sigh in relief. I hear Katniss continuing to move about in the room and I wish she would go do whatever she's doing in some other room. Then the bed dips again and the next thing I feel is her body aligning itself to mine, though she stays above the covers instead of crawling under them with me.

"Get some rest," she says softly.

"Sounds like a plan," I mutter in response.

* * *

I wake up some time later, my wife's body still aligned to mine. My head is still pounding, although slightly less so than before, and the nausea is still there, if perhaps a tiny bit lighter. I don't know how come Katniss is still here. I expected her to leave and do more worthwhile things once I was asleep. Slowly, ever so slowly, I turn my head to look at her. When I begin to move she shifts and lifts herself up on her elbow, gazing down at me with a combination of concern, disapproval and, strangely enough, amusement.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"About an hour and a half. Ready for that sandwich now?"

Probably not a question so much as a demand. Feeling another wave of nausea run through me I glance over at the sandwich on the nightstand, thinking to myself that ham is the very last thing I want to devour at present.

"Do we have anything…" I pause, pondering what I'm really in the mood for. "Greasier? I think I need something to soak up the alcohol."

"Too late for that," she snorts. "You're hungover because you're dehydrated and because your body is breaking down the alcohol already."

"I forgot I married an apothecary's daughter," I reply dryly.

She moves off the bed and walks around it, picking up the sandwich and holding it out to me. With a sigh I take it, picking up the slice of ham between two fingers.

"Kind of stale."

This makes her annoyed, a scowl appears on her face as she gives in and yanks the food back from me and leaves the room, muttering under her breath. When she's gone I force myself to get out of bed, nearly tripping over the bucket I may or may not have been puking into during the night. I head for the bathroom, groaning loudly when I reflexively turn on the lights and remember just how bright they are. Using one hand to try and shield my eyes as good as possible I use the toilet and then brush my teeth, hoping to get at least some of the horrible taste out of my mouth. Then I stare at the shower for a good five minutes, wondering to myself if I have the energy. Eventually I decide that I do. I feel sweaty and sticky and I probably smell like Haymitch and I'm guessing I'll feel less miserable once I've washed it all off myself.

Fifteen minutes later I step out into the bedroom again, a towel wrapped around my waist, indeed feeling somewhat better. Katniss has made the bed somewhat, arranging the pillows and the comforter but foregoing the bedspread, and is now sitting cross-legged on top of the covers with a book in her hands. She looks up at me and I feel a surprisingly pleasant jolt through my body when her eyes can't help drifting towards the towel. She quickly looks up at me though and nods to my nightstand.

"We had some lasagne left over, the one you made that was dripping in béchamel. That's the best I can do by way of greasy food."

Despite my various physical displeasures, and the fact that I'm not at all in the mood for lasagne, I grin widely.

"I'm all sorts of in love with you."

She rolls her eyes but I think I detect the hint of a smile.

"You just say the stupidest things sometimes," she says, though not really in a complaining way. Then she smirks. "I think you'll find you're even more fond of me when you've taken the pills I brought you along with the food."

"Pills?" I echo dumbly.

"Yes, silly. There are medicines that make hangovers more endurable."

"I know," I mumble, walking over to the bed and sitting down beside the nightstand. "Just didn't know any of those medicines were in our house."

She shrugs and returns her focus to the book she's reading.

"They're good for cramps, too."

I nod slowly, though I instantly regret it as it shoots new waves of pain through my head. Somewhat clumsily I reach for the plate of lasagne, steeling myself before lifting a piece to my mouth. It's not all that bad, in fact I really liked it the first time we had it, but it's not what my stomach is craving at present. I swallow the two pills Katniss brought for me and down them with almost half the water in the glass. The water is cold, probably just been poured or she had ice in the glass previously and I just didn't notice. I finish the water long before I finish eating the food, setting the plate down with approximately half the lasagne still on it. With a groan I pull my legs up on the bed and lay down, curling up in a foetal position. The towel feels uncomfortable so I remove it and toss it on the floor, barely aware that I am naked. I hear a soft chuckle from my wife who then moves off the bed, drapes a blanket over me and picks up the towel.

"Don't tempt me when you're in no shape to follow through," she murmurs against my temple before pressing her lips to my skin. She heads for the bathroom with the towel and I close my eyes and drift off to sleep again.

* * *

The rest of the day goes by slowly and somewhat miserably, though I feel better with each passing hour. Katniss spends a large portion of her day cooped up with me in our darkened bedroom, slowly coaxing me out of my desire to just curl up and sleep the day away. As I begin to feel better she engages me in conversation and for a while reads to me from her book. At one point we even have sex, which turns out to be a wonderful distraction, though Katniss does almost all the work. As the day begins to turn towards night I find myself lying on my back between her legs, my upper body resting against her belly and chest as she sits leaning against the headboard. My arms wrap around her legs and her hands play with my upper arms and my shoulders. It's calm and serene and I feel ten times better than I did when I first woke up in the morning.

"You should go downstairs," I say, not really wanting her to leave but knowing she ought to. "You haven't had dinner yet."

"Neither have you," she points out.

"I could do without dinner today," I sigh, groaning a little when she responds by lecturing me on the importance of eating as if I didn't already know. "Just go downstairs and get yourself some dinner" I say when she's finished.

"Fine," she grumbles, giving me a not-so-gentle nudge so she can get off the bed.

While she's down in the kitchen I use the bathroom again, brush my teeth to call it a night and half-heartedly try to comb through my unruly hair. Buttercup has found his way up to our bathroom and sits on the thick, soft rug beside the bathtub and studies me with ill-hidden disdain. I give him a look and he meows lazily.

"You spend like sixteen hours a day sleeping," I say. "Don't come judging me for wanting to go to sleep at seven o'clock even though I've probably slept for like four hours during the day today."

I head back to bed, crawling underneath the sheets, waiting to see if my wife will come back upstairs soon or if she'll sit in front of the television for a while. She deserves some time for herself to do something fun. This must have been one of the most boring days of her life, hanging out with me in this utterly non-charming state. Buttercup hops up on the bed and curls up between my knees, purring contently. Of course he chose that spot. He's got a thing for choosing sleeping spots where he's enclosed in some manner and between mine or Katniss' legs has become a favourite. Probably because he knows it's inconvenient for us. Carefully I move over on my stomach, trying to reposition my legs without bothering the cat too much. The prosthetic ensures that I fail but luckily Buttercup chooses that leg to bite so I don't feel it.

"Play nice, cat," says Katniss, walking in at that moment. Then she chuckles. "Really Peeta, going to sleep already?"

"Still hungover," I groan into the pillow. Then I lift myself up a little and look at her. "Really, you should go watch television or go outside for some fresh air or… something. Trust me, I won't be much company."

"I'll stay until you're asleep."

Like she did earlier in the day she lays down beside me but stays on top of the covers. Her arm drapes over my back and shoulders and her face rests at the nape of my neck. She whispers something to me but I can't make it out. I tell her that I love her but it comes out as a mumble into the pillow so she probably doesn't hear it. With the comfort and company of wife and cat I drift off to sleep for the last time today.


	6. Age 24 - Katniss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a break from finishing "Birthday" because I realized that today is June 9th - the day when this fic is set! I had the start of this chapter already written some time ago and I'm not sure how I originally intended to wrap it up but this is what it ended up as and I think it works quite alright. Hope you'll enjoy and I'd love to hear your thoughts on it.

A glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand tells me it's a quarter to six and I need to hurry. We're leaving at six, heading into town to have dinner with government officials and be part of a video segment. Peeta and I rarely partake in official business or allow photographers from the Capitol to take our picture but every once in a while something comes up that one or both of us feels is worthy of our time. Tonight it's a dinner that's part of a charity drive to help the children who were orphaned during the rebellion. Supporting such a cause seems like the least Peeta and I can do.

I take a look at myself in the mirror and try to like what I see. The scars from the burns have all but faded, faint white lines being the only signs of where one patch of skin ends and another begins. The skin itself has mostly adapted and taken on the texture and colour of my own skin. My hair has long since grown out and regained its former quality and right now I keep it cut to just below my shoulders, though Peeta wants me to let it grow long again. I usually put it up but tonight it's hanging loose in soft waves, shiny and actually rather pretty. My body is slender but fuller than it used to be as a result of never having to worry where my next meal is coming from and of living with a man who bakes for a living. It pleases me that my chest is bigger now, even though I feel vain for thinking that way, and I don't know if the size of my breasts matter at all to Peeta. He says he only cares that they're there and that they're mine. He is just as grateful as I am that Haymitch forbade the Capitol doctors to surgically alter them after our first arena. I enjoy having a fuller, more female figure but I want it to be mine and not surgically enhanced.

The dress I'm wearing tonight is nowhere near as beautiful as Cinna's creations but it's quite nice anyway. Made from navy blue satin it hugs my body all the way down to the floor without feeling too tight or prohibiting my movements. In my ears are a pair of blue fake-diamond earrings I bought ages ago and around my neck a silver necklace with an arrow piercing a heart – a wedding gift from my husband. The makeup I have applied is modest but rather nice looking if I do say so myself. I've seen my old prep team once since the war and that time they took to teaching me how to do my own makeup with eagerness and vigour that almost matched their excitement when they prepped me as a tribute. I can't say that I remember half of what they tried to teach me but at least some of it stuck.

My right hand reaches for the perfume bottle sitting on the vanity in front of me. Unlike my left hand the right one carries no jewellery. My left ring finger has a thin gold wedding band matching the one I put on Peeta's finger at our wedding and a modest but lovely engagement ring with a small green rock together with a small orange one. As I grab the perfume bottle I vaguely note that perhaps I should have put nail polish on to try and hide the nails that are short and uneven from me biting on them. Deciding I don't have time for that I settle for spraying myself twice with the perfume and setting the bottle back down. A smell of fresh vanilla fills the air. I bought this bottle just the other day and this is the first time I've used it. I don't usually wear perfume but for fancy occasions it's nice to have a fancier smell to help make me feel more glamorous and more like I fit in.

I take a deep breath and fill my nose with this particular scent. I love it because it reminds me of Peeta and how he usually tastes of vanilla, cinnamon and dill. In fact, that's the whole reason why I bought this perfume – it reminded me of him.

It's almost a little ridiculous when you think about it. For someone like me to not only have settled down but to have done so with a man who is vanilla and cinnamon rather than leather and pine needles. If you had told my fifteen year-old self that love would be too powerful for me not to surrender to and that the person who would catch my heart is soft and gentle and a baker then I would have snorted, scowled and called you crazy. Katniss Everdeen was never to fall in love and certainly not with somebody like Peeta Mellark. I always thought that if I did ever find myself irresistibly romantically drawn to a boy it would be somebody more like Gale – masculine, dark, tall, passionate, strong and sturdy. Somebody more like my father than like my mother. More like me than like Prim.

Peeta, of course, is not at all like me on first glance. He's mild, gentle, loving, soft and chooses his battles carefully rather than fighting to have his will at all turns. Yet I learned a long time ago that there was a lot more to him than that. He is masculine, though not in the same ways as Gale or even Finnick. He is passionate, incredibly so, but he doesn't express it the same way his former romantic rival did. Peeta is never reckless in his passion or destructive. Instead his passion brings good and joy to my life. He is strong, both physically and emotionally, and can carry us both through almost everything if I would let him. Weak though he may seem to those who don't know him he is determined and courageous and I admire him so for the way he handles life. It's true that more often than not he bends his will to mine but I have learned that it's not because he is meek or lacks a fighting spirit. He simply knows how to compromise better than I do. When he really wants or believes something I can't make him change his mind no matter what. As a result I usually have my way on minor issues but if we disagree on matters more important to him Peeta tends to end up victorious, if we don't reach compromise.

I'm so lost in thoughts about my husband that I don't even hear him walking into the bedroom and I startle a little when he wraps his arms around my waist from behind and places a kiss just below my right ear.

"We need to leave in three minutes," he says. "You, and the room, smell... like vanilla."

His arms leave me and he walks over to his nightstand to get the cufflinks he put there earlier today. I wish his arms were back around me but I can wait a little longer to feel physical contact.

"Is that bad?" I ask, a hint of teasing in my voice.

"No. Just... not what I expected."

"You ought to be the last person to criticise somebody else for anything vanilla," I smirk.

"I don't mind," he chuckles and begins to put the cufflinks on. "It's just a little... stereotypical, isn't it? That the baker's wife walks around smelling like vanilla?"

I ignore the comment and walk over to help him with his cufflinks. He's wearing a navy blue suit that matches my dress and a light blue dress shirt Effie sent him for his 22nd birthday. The suit is a leftover from our days as victors touring Panem and it tugs at my heartstrings a little to think of Portia who made it for him. Instead of dwelling on the past I try to focus on the cufflinks. They're small, round and flat, made of silver and with the letters P and K engraved. My gift to him for our anniversary. The letters are so small that you have to be really close to actually see them but that's what I liked about it. When he wears them he wears something that reminds of us, but only he and I know it.

"There," I say when I'm done. I reach up to straighten his tie and then I lean in for a kiss. "See, you _taste_ of vanilla. I merely smell of it."

"Everyone notices what you smell like but only you know what I taste like," he points out with a raised eyebrow.

"That had better be true."

He smiles at me, wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me flush against him. We kiss languidly for a moment and I almost wish we didn't have to go and attend this shindig tonight. I have him to myself most evenings but for some reason it feels like I never want to be alone with him more than when I don't get to be.

"Come along, baker's wife," Peeta then says, pulling back from me abruptly and giving my bottom a playful spank. "We're running late. Behave yourself."

His unexpected move makes me yelp a bit but I can't help laughing at the mischievous grin on his face. He grabs his suit jacket and my purse from the bed and heads for the door with me on his heels.

"We're only two minutes behind schedule," I note.

"Two whole minutes? Effie would have a stroke." As we hurry down the stairs he glances at his wristwatch. "Actually I think it's closer to five minutes."

"I place all the blame on you."

"Me? You were the one who started the kissing."

"I'm pretty sure that you are the one to blame for us ever kissing in the first place."

He holds the front door open for me and I step outside. It's a warm summer's day and if we had the evening all to ourselves we probably would have eaten dinner on the back porch or perhaps even on a blanket on the lawn. A flash of regret that I don't get to spend the evening with Peeta's arm around me as we watch the setting sun passes through me but I brush it aside. It's going to be nice to see other people tonight. Sometimes we get almost a touch isolated, Peeta and me, in our attempts at avoiding a public life. We're not going to be the main attraction tonight anyway, several other celebrities and some important government officials will be in attendance, and what attention we do get will be for a good cause. I can let our marriage be public property for a few hours if it helps bring in money to the children who need it. Anything to prevent other children from the same kind of childhood I had.

"I envy you women," sighs Peeta as we walk towards the car. "Why exactly do men have to wear suits with long-sleeved shirts and _jackets_ in this kind of weather?"

"So you can gallantly offer the jacket to your sweetheart when it gets chilly later at night," I reply cheekily and open the door to the passenger seat. "It's all part of an anciently traditional form of courtship."

"I'm done courting you," replies Peeta and sits down on the driver's seat, adjusting it from how I left it when I drove home yesterday. "You already succumbed to my charms and agreed to spend forever with me."

"That doesn't mean you can't still court me for... other purposes."

"One of the many benefits of marriage is that I don't need to woo you in order to get lucky."

A laugh escapes me at this declaration.

"You seem awfully sure of yourself, Peeta."

"You mean to tell me you're not going to do things to me when we get back home tonight?" he asks casually, looking over his shoulder as he backs out of the driveway.

"I haven't made up my mind yet."

He flashes me a grin that makes my heart skip a beat.

"Alright then. Let me know when your mind is made up and until then you are more than welcome to wear my jacket. In fact, take it right now."

"You are too kind," I reply. "You keep it, for now. It will ruin my outfit. If I wear it later tonight it will just be charming and becoming but it's a little early for me to be chilly."

"Excuses, excuses."

We drive towards the big Town Hall on the eastern end of the district. The Town Hall was completed three years ago and is used for larger gatherings such as government events, school graduations and the like. I've only been there twice before but it's a nice and spacious building. When we arrive at the parking lot there are only about half a dozen empty parking spaces, implying that we are indeed running late.

"Keep your fingers crossed that we won't run into Mrs. Tiro Tortora," says Peeta as we exit the car. "By my watch we are seven minutes late."

"We are fashionably late, darling," I say with a Capitol accent.

"Somehow I don't think Effie will go for that."

I laugh and take his arm as we walk towards the building.

"I think she might if we claim we were making sure we'd make a good entrance."

"Well since that is our trademark..." he teases.

With a smile I briefly rest my cheek against his shoulder, making sure to lift my head up high again before we step through the doors. My smile is genuine, unlike all those other times when Peeta and I arrived to parties during our teenaged years, and my hand on his arm is more than just for show and for support. It's a little odd how different it feels to attend a public event now but every change is for the better. Especially the cause of the party and my relationship to the man at my side.

My hand leaves Peeta's arm a few minutes later as I'm being whisked away to say hi to this person and that person and he's being lead to the bar to hopefully try and convince Haymitch to not have anything more to drink before dinner. During our victory tour I didn't like it when they separated us, for one because it meant I had to smile and try to be charming and act the part of gracious victor all on my own, and for another because Peeta's presence beside me was always a reassurance and a comfort. Tonight I'm much more comfortable leaving his side but I am also always aware of where he is, my eyes seeking him out every few minutes. Whenever our eyes meet across the room we smile at each other and he gives me a wink which sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. Knowing that when the party is over we won't be returning to our separate rooms to sleep makes me feel grateful and knowing that even while Peeta would sometimes come and share my bed during the tour we would never have done the things we will be doing tonight makes me awfully glad to have become an adult. Most of all it makes me grateful that the Hunger Games are over and that the Capitol's oppression has ended. We are free to love and live however we choose, and so is everyone else.

Fifteen minutes before dinner is set to be served Peeta and I meet up in the small garden outside the hall to film our part for the charity segment. It is something that's going to run on the television for a while to come, urging people to donate money, time, toys, clothes and anything else they are able to give to the orphaned children of the war. With Peeta being the better speaker he first does his own segment wherein he manages to deliver a poignant message about why it is our common responsibility to help these children out in just a few sentences. After that they want us both on camera and we deliver the lines they feed to us, specifying how and where to donate and who to contact if you want to help out in any other way.

"Remember," says Peeta at the end, "the Hunger Games are over but these children are no more safe now than they would have been with their names in the reaping balls. They still need our help."

It's an ad-lib and I just barely manage not to react with surprise that he says something unscripted. The reality of what he says hits home with me though and I instinctively turn my face to his shoulder to hide my reaction. Cressida, who is directing the whole thing, seems very pleased. I just feel emotional and no longer in a good way. Hand in hand with Peeta I walk back inside the hall and head for our assigned seats but I can't manage to put a smile back on my face. Before we reach our table Peeta tugs my hand gently and I stop and turn, finding him right there for me to wrap my arms around and seek comfort in.

"I've been all caught up in how nice this party is compared to the ones on our tour," I mumble against his shoulder. "I actually forgot about what it must be like for those children. Why we're here in the first place."

"Katniss it's not a bad thing to enjoy yourself tonight, or to think the place looks beautiful, or to be happy about the things you've got," says Peeta calmly. "I mean, it's a party for a reason. It's for a good cause. The important thing is doing something to help. So much better, then, to dress up in our finest and come here and have a great time and do what we can to make a difference than to have stayed home and let the evening go by like any other."

I lift my head and look into those blue eyes that I love so much.

"Do you have a secret invisible ear-piece from which Cressida feeds you lines written by Plutarch or whoever his finest speechwriter is?" I ask. The line is lame but Peeta grins anyway.

"Nope! This is all Mellark, all the way. I'm poignantly sappy by nature."

Pulling back from his embrace I smirk and take his arm, resuming the walk to our table. I feel myself coming back to my original frame of mind, especially where he is concerned. I want to do whatever I can to help these children, knowing I was at one point at risk of essentially being in their shoes, but I find it near impossible not to focus at least partially on my husband and the way he makes me feel.

At our table he pulls out my chair for me and kisses me on the cheek as I take my seat. He finds his own seat beside me and underneath the table his hand finds mine, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand in a comforting gesture. I decide that it might just be okay to be happy about where I am in life and to be high on my love for my husband even on a night when we're supposed to be thinking only about the orphaned children who desperately need our help. If my life can turn around and go from the desperate, pitiful girl who sat outside the bakery in the rain to the well-fed, happily married person I am today then maybe theirs can end up happy as well. And while I'm sure they'll always carry the wounds of their childhood with them, same as my wounds will never go away and that not all days have me feeling the way I feel today, life can still be good and well worth living.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! There's not a lot to comment on in this first, fairly short, chapter but if you have any comments I would love to hear them =)


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